


perihelion

by molotovhappyhour



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: All the Gods are Dead, M/M, No more magic, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 14:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11510889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/molotovhappyhour/pseuds/molotovhappyhour
Summary: (Summer in the desert, baking the earth. The vegetation had rustled as the sun loomed on the horizon, larger than Noctis had ever remembered it being. But then again, Insomnia had always blocked out the skyline, in most places. The only time he’d ever caught the sunlight had been when the glare had blinded him from a countless number of windows.There had been a word for what he’d been seeing—the sun swallowing the desert underneath it, turning everything a deep red-orange, burning the edges of his cheekbones.“perihelion,” Prompto had said from beside him. The dirt beneath their palms had been cooked into sand, the rock of the cliff-face jagged and uneven from sudden sandstorms. Some of the stone looked polished enough to be glasswork, farther down the gully. “that’s when the world is at its closest point to the sun.”)





	perihelion

**Author's Note:**

> "you sure have them kiss a lot," you might be thinking. but is it enough? no.

Even at night, the water of Galdin Quay radiates warmth.

Noctis can’t remember the last time he’d sat barefoot like this, his feet dangling above the water only barely, moving in some off-kilter rhythm as glowing barrelfish flitted away, heading closer to the beach. The breeze smells of brine and soft sand, and if he breathes deep enough, he thinks he can taste the stars, glittering in almost-absolute silence against the depth of the sky.

If he thinks about it, it had probably been their first night on the Quay, wandering up and down the shoreline, his boots left behind at the caravan. He’d never felt sand between his toes before. The only beach he’d ever seen had been on a lake, the dirt there dark and slimy, with frogs peeking out from the mud. It had been beautiful, still—but the sea is something else entirely.

He wonders if they’ll ever see it again, after they get back to Insomnia. Surely there will be enough work to keep _ten_ kings busy, much less one.

The wood creaks when Noctis shifts against it, leaning his weight back on one hand. He’ll miss the smell the most, probably. The way the left-behind scent of the sunlight clings to the sand, mixing with the sharpness of the saltwater. It lingers in the thread of clothes, in strands of hair, against exposed skin. Certainly at least _some_ of it would follow them home, even considering the stretch of desert between here and there.

He breathes deep for the second time, just in case.

The only indication that Prompto is behind him is the shadow moving across the water, settling just to the side of Noctis’ distorted silhouette. That, and the smell of lavender and vanilla—the memories of a soap Noctis had bought back in Lestallum. Soft, like flower petals, and sweet, like something baking.

It smells better on him.

“So why do you think they pronounce ‘ _quay’_ so funny here? In every class _we_ ever took, I was sure it wasn’t said like ‘ _key_.’” The pier groans for the second time as Prompto takes a seat behind him, starting the process of pulling off his boots, one after the other. It’s easier, this late at night. They’re not laced.

“You can’t just attack people who can’t read,” Noctis replies. “That’s really impolite.”

“Is that a lecture you’ve gotten before, _Your Highness_?” One boot thunks against the boardwalk.

“No, but it’s an educated guess.” The second boot hits the polished wood, smooth from endless treatments of some water-resistant finish. “You get bored playing King’s Knight while you were waiting for me to come back, or was the smell of saltwater just _too good_ to pass up?”

“None of the above!” Moonlight dances over Prompto’s freckles like it’s jealous that the sun got to leave them there. It gathers in his hair and on his eyelashes like teardrops, and there’s a moment of past-and-future, of dissonance as Noctis’ brain tries to overlay decade old features over the softer face right beside him. It makes his head ache. “I was worried about you. What if you’d been fishing and just lost track of time? Or what if you’d been cornered into another fetch-quest by Dino? I’m not sure a late night rock-run is the best use of your time.” There’s a pause, filled with the sound of the sea brushing under the boardwalk, the surf hissing against the sand, the quiet murmur of patrons still sitting at dining tables with unfinished wine bottles. “What’s on your mind?”

(The first time they’d seen each other in high school, Noctis had known Prompto instantly, though he’d looked entirely different by then. He’d been taller and far leaner, and his voice had been deeper, but he’d still had his freckles. There’d been more, of course, than when Noctis had last seen him. The sun had loved him dearly.

“ _prince noctis, right?_ ” Prompto had said, as if it had been the first time they’d ever seen one another. Noctis had wondered, for a moment, if he’d just forgotten elementary school, or if there was a game he’d been trying to play. He’d been speaking over the questions of a herd of students who’d wanted to see the prince, up close and personally. “ _prompto argentum. you look like you’re in need of a rescue._ ”

Noctis’ knee had ached—an old injury from Marilith that hadn’t bothered him since before he’d come back from Tenebrae almost  seven years earlier.

He’d felt himself smiling despite it.

“ _oh yeah?_ ” he’d said, and the students had started going quiet as he’d shifted his backpack on his shoulder. “ _aren’t you a little short for a crownsguard?_ ”)

It’s barely-whispered, gently enough that it almost gets lost in the ambient noise curling in the breeze. It dries out Noctis’ throat, a little, as if something had gotten stuck there and had dug in with nails like needles. Coughing doesn’t make it any easier to speak.

“Ah, you know,” Noctis says, “nothing. Just the drive back to the City. Perfect time for a nap, so I’m trying to budget my time accordingly.”

Prompto hums, his fingers a warm weight on Noctis’ knuckles. The touch is soft, feather-light, and it makes him want to cry. “Hm, I see. I mean, I could probably boot Gladio up front for once? He says he needs the legroom in the back, but _I_ think it’s pretty roomy in the passenger seat, so I don’t see why for the last leg home we can’t budget your royal naptime.”

A bird crows somewhere, out across the sea. Noctis doesn’t know what kind it is. “Gee, thanks. My time management skills have always been subpar.”

Prompto’s laughter breaks the quiet, skipping over the water like a stone. It’s only after it sinks into the sand that he opens his mouth again, watching the moon’s reflection ripple above a group of glowing barrelfish. “Are you nervous about going back?” Another heartbeat’s pause and Prompto laces their fingers. When Noctis glances at their hands, he sees the glimpse of the Imperial tattoo, sharp and uncovered. “Or... is it that you’re going to miss this place?”

He should’ve known, really. Prompto’s always been a mind-reader.

(Summer in the desert, baking the earth. The vegetation had rustled as the sun loomed on the horizon, larger than Noctis had ever remembered it being. But then again, Insomnia had always blocked out the skyline, in most places. The only time he’d ever caught the sunlight had been when the glare had blinded him from a countless number of windows.

There had been a word for what he’d been seeing—the sun swallowing the desert underneath it, turning everything a deep red-orange, burning the edges of his cheekbones.

“ _perihelion_ ,” Prompto had said from beside him. The dirt beneath their palms had been cooked into sand, the rock of the cliff-face jagged and uneven from sudden sandstorms. Some of the stone looked polished enough to be glasswork, farther down the gully. “ _that’s when the world is at its closest point to the sun._ ”

Prompto’s skin had looked almost golden, and his freckles had stretched across the bridge of his nose and the curve of his cheekbones and had settled around his ears. Noctis had wondered, then, who the sun would be, if they were celestial bodies, or something like that. He’d never been one for poetry.

His tongue had felt heavy in his mouth when he’d said, “ _how do you always do that?_ ”

Callused fingers, warm and soft and covered in too-dry dirt. Noctis could feel the thumbprint that Prompto would be leaving on his cheek. “ _easy_ ,” he’d said, and it had been the first time that Prompto had looked brave. Noctis had never had his face held this way before. “ _it’s written all over your face._ ”)

“We’ve spent so much time here,” Noctis says, the nighttime whispering against the thatched roof of the restaurant. “It’ll be weird when we don’t come back.”

“What, like, ever?” Prompto’s eyelashes brush against his cheeks, trying to gather freckles there, probably. “We’re not coming back here?”

Noctis’ bones grind together when he shrugs, his throat too tight to say anything to a question like that, and his feet stop swinging just out of the water’s reach. His fingertips are tingling.

“I don’t know. You know how the Crown City is. It took us, what, twenty years to leave?”

Prompto’s thumb is drawing circles on his fingers, easing their grip in increments. His face feels too hot. Or maybe it’s just the skin around his eyes. “I guess. But dude, I was thinking this would be the _perfect_ place for a honeymoon. Altissa is too big, and besides, who cares about Altissa? I wasn’t that impressed. It was _pretty_ , but it was also _huge_ , and we can get that back in Insomnia! This place is tiny and cozy and if anyone gets bored, there are crabs _right_ down the beach to fight, usually. Or cook, depending.”

There’s a moment where Noctis can’t breathe. And then two. “A honeymoon, huh? I never did get to go on one of those.” It sounds as if the sea chuckles, splashing softly against the wooden posts beaten down into the sand. “Don’t you have to get married to go on one?”

(Their fingers had brushed when the Crystal had grabbed him. It had been for only a hairsbreadth of a second, barely a touch at all, but it had _been_ there. Noctis had felt it, even in the cold of the Crystal’s embrace.

“noct!” Prompto’s hand had been shaking. They’d been so close.

 _perihelion_ , Noctis had remembered the word, then. The moment had been inopportune.)

“You do,” Prompto replies. “I’ve heard, anyway.”

It feels like Prompto’s fingers are going to leave freckles on his knuckles. It feels as though he’d leave freckles against Prompto’s cheeks if he’d kissed him. It feels like—it feels complicated. He’ll be a King when they get back to the City, a King of _real_ things rather than just some fallen country. He’ll have subjects and meetings and royal functions. He’ll return triumphant but hollow, because there isn’t a ring to connect him to the gods, anymore, just like there isn’t a Crystal to protect the capital. There’s just him, and his people, with no wall between.

Noctis has spent a whole lot of time giving. He doesn’t know if there’s a whole lot of him left to... honeymoon with.

“Who’d take your wedding photos?” Sandpaper scrapes the inside of his mouth.

“Dude,” Prompto tells him, “me, obviously. I know all the good angles.” A huff of air, maybe a laugh, but maybe not. It could’ve been a swear, almost inaudible in the semi-broken darkness. “Who’d kiss you at your wedding?”

Noctis almost shoves him off of the pier for that—but pulls him forward by the fabric of his vest instead.

Prompto’s free hand smells like Noctis’ soap and wood-finish as it touches his cheek. He looks brave when Noctis meets his eyes, like he had on the palace rooftop, like he had as he’d set his jaw in front of the Crystal, like he had ten years in the future when they’d seen each other—both of them changed in some sort of way.

When they kiss it’s like daylight.

Something is burned away inside of him, the way that it always is. Prompto’s hands always wander, baptizing everything they touch, charring the hem of his shirt. Noctis’ hands are firmer against his shoulders, more insistent. It’s a way to ask for reassurance without having to put it to words, because he’s never been as adept with them as Prompto has been.

Break apart, sigh, hands in hair. Break apart, but only barely, kiss again. Angles change, their bodies shift, one of Noctis’ feet can finally touch the water. It radiates warmth.

(“ _how do you always do that?_ ” They’ll have made it into the sea, somehow, floating beside the dock in nothing but underwear, circling each other before they inevitably kiss again. “ _that whole mind-reader mess you do._ ”

Prompto will look at him, his hair pushed away from his forehead as he blinks. The seawater clinging to his eyelashes runs down his cheeks like tears—happy ones, maybe. “ _i saw it in a dream_ ,” he will say with gravity, in the dramatic voice he uses for monologues and storytelling. “ _the sun was rising over the quay, and you were sitting here, glowing. i reached out to touch you, and you’d disappeared. your dad’s ring was left behind._ ”

“ _prom_ ,” Noctis will reply, scaring away a bluegill swimming between his knees as he wraps his legs around Prompto’s waist, weightless beneath the sea, “ _that has nothing to do with what i just asked you_.”

“ _i saw you in a dream_ ,” Prompto will repeat himself and his eyes will be shining. “ _and i thought you were gone again._ ”

“ _prompto, that’s not what i_ —“

This time, Prompto’s grip will white-knuckle, his fingers pressing tightly between Noctis’ own. “ _you’ve always been easy to read._ ” A single drop of water will be crawling down his face from his hairline, heading toward his jaw. It will be set, like stone. “ _and i’ve always liked coming to your rescue_.”

There will be another conversation here that they need to have—but that moment will come later, in a way that tastes more like leather seats and desert sand, or smells of gleaming marble and newly polished silver. Just then, the nighttime will be broken by laughter, by the splashing of water, by the long silence that follows kisses.

The sun will be large, when it rises, eating up the horizon with orange-gold jaws.)


End file.
